


Dear Mr Carvour

by broadlicnic



Series: Dear Exchange Student [3]
Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Daddy Issues, Fluff, Gay Disaster Curt Mega, Gay Disaster Owen Carvour, Hurt/Comfort, Long Distance Relationship, M/M, Multi, Sequel, alternative universe, au: mid 2000s, discussions of binge drinking, more tags as it progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21943627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broadlicnic/pseuds/broadlicnic
Summary: Five months after the end of the exchange, Owen Carvour's entire life is about to change. Trapped by a future he doesn't want, on the other side of the ocean from everyone who cares about him, one snap decision could change the whole course of his life, but not without some hiccups along the way.Sequel to Dear Exchange Student.NOTE: This fic is NOT dead, I'm just recovering from covid and some other health issues and won't be in any condition to write for a while.
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Series: Dear Exchange Student [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1480295
Comments: 57
Kudos: 144





	1. The Future's Owned by You and Me

**Author's Note:**

> They're back.

_Dear Mr Carvour,_

_Congratulations! Your place at the University of St. Andrew’s to study Law and International Relations has been confirmed. Subject to you meeting any outstanding non-academic conditions you’ll begin the course on 16 September 2007 with a point of entry 1._

_If the university or college listed above was your_ **_insurance choice_ ** _, your firm choice application has been unsuccessful. If you believe your firm choice should have accepted you, please contact the university or college immediately._

**_This letter is official proof of your place - you may wish to print it to keep for your records._ ** ****

_When you accepted the offer of a place on this course,_ **_a contract was made between you and your chosen university or college_ ** _. If you have changed your mind, please read the information below which explains what you need to do next depending on what you want to change. Note that if you decide not to take up this place, you will need to contact the university or college._

_If you received better grades than you expected, you may be able to secure a place on an alternative course using our Adjustment service._

_We wish you every success and the best of luck for the future._

_Yours sincerely,_

_UCAS_

That was it. Owen Carvour stared at the email on his screen, butterflies filling his empty stomach. He hadn’t even opened his results yet. It was too early across the ocean, even if he was sure Curt would wake up at the first chime of the Skype call. And yet this email detailed his whole future. St. Andrew’s. Everything Aunt Sybil had dreamed for him. It was terrifying.

His eyes lingered on the word Adjustment. _“secure a place on an alternative course”_. There was a phone number. There was a choice, and a chance.

He heard the distant slam of the front door, the fierce click of sensible heels on polished wooden floors. The house was old, and noises echoed through its cavernous halls at an alarming volume. Aunt Sybil hadn’t been home when he left for the school to collect his results. He’d screened her calls all morning. If he was careful, he could pretend he wasn’t home yet. They didn’t need to have this conversation yet.

A large oak tree grew outside Owen’s window, a thick, sturdy branch within easy reach. It was on this tree that Owen sat in the early hours, window closed, laptop precariously balanced so Aunt Sybil couldn’t hear his whispered conversations. He was always tired. He’d stay up all night just to talk to Curt in the day, and spend his lazy, long summer days reading books quietly aloud as Curt drifted off to sleep following another late shift at Big’s Diner. Curt didn’t enjoy reading. He loved being read to.

Owen closed his laptop and slid it into his satchel, gathering up his wallet, phone, and laptop charger. Finally, he picked up the unopened manila envelope and added it to the bag. He shrugged on a jacket. It wasn’t his favourite. That jacket he’d accidentally-on-purpose left back in the bunker five months ago. His favourite jacket was now Curt’s favourite jacket. He picked up his shoes, tied the laces together, and flung them over his shoulders. Better to move on socked feet. He hoped Aunt Sybil thought he’d purposely left his car at home, planning to go to the pub post-results with the school friends he didn’t have. She was talking to the housekeeper. He could hear the poor woman’s muttered apologies and his Aunt’s steadily rising volume. He had to move now if he wanted to go unnoticed.

The branch was rough against the soles of his feet, but mercifully dry following an unseasonably pleasant summer. He edged the window closed slowly, wincing at the slight creak of the old hinges. Satchel safely hanging from his shoulder, he hastened to unfasten the knot in his laces, slipped on the shoes, and clambered down the tree. As he dropped to the ground, he ran. He didn’t look back. He’d made his choice.

~~~

Doris and Joan’s had terrible coffee, and even worse decor. As the name would suggest, the furniture hadn’t been updated since the 50s. There were _doilies_ on the tables, and the toilet roll was covered by a doll in a knitted dress. And yet it had one of the best wi-fi spots in the area. Either Doris or Joan had a grandson who worked as an engineer and got them a great deal. Owen could handle coffee that tasted like dirt. The place was quiet, and the barista, a middle-aged Geordie called Dean (both Doris and Joan had since retired) allowed him to use a table for several hours at a time when the thought of returning to the house got too much. Dean even came over to wave at Owen’s handsome American boyfriend through the webcam sometimes.

Owen hunkered down at his usual table, hidden away in the back corner with a well-worn brown armchair, as he waited for Dean to fix his drink. He plugged in his laptop and lifted the lid. The email was still open on his screen. Those words once more. _“secure a place on an alternative course.”_

 **r u scared?** Curt had text him the night before, in his lunch break at the Diner.

 **A little.** Owen had replied.

**u shudnt b. ur so smart. i bet u got da best grades in england!**

**That’s not why I’m scared.**

**i no.** Then, three hours later. **sorry just finished wrk. b brave. i love you.**

Curt abbreviated everything in texts. But he always wrote _I love you_ in full. Owen could be brave. His life was his own. Aunt Sybil was not going to hold his future to ransom any longer.

He picked up his phone, and typed in the number on the email. “Hello? Hi, I’d like to inquire about changing university courses.”

~~~

_“Curtis, honey! It’s Owen!”_

_“Mom, why are you on my computer?”_

_“I was excited! Owen, sweetie! How are you? Do you have your results? Are you in Scotland yet?”_

_“Mom, will you let me speak to him?”_

_“Okay, sorry!”_

Owen chucked as the small woman shuffled over to the left of the screen, leaving just enough space for Curt in the camera’s view.

“Hi,” he said fondly.

 _“Hey,”_ Curt said with a warm smile. He’d picked up a tan in the warm summer, even if he was working double shifts at Big’s Diner. His hair was mussed, his clothes crumpled. He’d clearly woken up recently, and that was Owen’s second-favourite Curt, after the sleepy Curt who whispered sweet nothings to him late into his night. Since Barb had given him her old laptop and Mrs Mega moved the bulky desktop into the spare room with Oleg, Curt now slept with his laptop on his pillow, Skype open, and Owen mirrored his position on his own bed in the daylight. It was the closest they could get to the real thing. _“So? How did you do?”_

“Not yet,” Owen said, his fingers tapping impatiently on the envelope. “The girls aren’t here.”

 _“Oh, Tati can’t join us,”_ Curt said. _“Didn’t she email you?”_

“I…I don’t know.” Maybe she had. He’d seen the email from UCAS and everything else had slipped away from him.

_“She said she’s busy, but email her your grades. Barb’s moving into her dorm today, but she should get online any minute.”_

_“How you doing, sweetie?”_ Mrs Mega interrupted. _“We miss you.”_ She said this every time they spoke, usually followed by _“this is so unfair.”_ She left out that caveat this time, and for that he was thankful. It _wasn’t_ fair. Nothing about this arrangement was fair. He didn’t need reminding of the fact.

“I miss you, too.” He said, and that made her smile, even if Owen’s eyes were on Curt. The alert sounded, and in just a few clicks he was deafened by a scream that Owen was sure could be heard through his earphones, if Dean’s reaction was anything to go by.

“Hi Barb,” he said, wincing. Her webcam was much clearer than Curt’s, but she did have much better tech financed through the exclusive scholarship she’d been offered. He could kiss her. Without her being so damn smart, maybe Curt wouldn’t have got her old laptop. Maybe they couldn’t share a bed in their unconventional way.

 _“Owen! Hi! I’m at college!”_ Barb cried. He remembered what an uncontrollable ball of energy Barb could be when she was excited, and this was Barb on another level. She was nothing but a blur of pixels as she buzzed around the room, unpacking belongings as she spoke.

“I can see. Everything go well with the move?”

 _“Okay, Barb, I love you,”_ Curt interrupted _, “but more important matters at hand.”_

 _“Oh my god, yeah!”_ Barb said, stopping what she was doing and crowding in close to the screen. _“How did you do? Tell us everything!”_

“Okay.” Owen took a deep breath, picked up the envelope, and tore it open. His eyes scanned the page several times over. He felt… he felt nothing.

 _“Well?”_ Curt said.

“A* in English Literature, A* in Law, A* in Chemistry, A* in History…” he read.

 _“Mom, my boyfriend’s a genius,”_ Curt laughed.

“Add that to the A I got in my independent Mandarin exam, and I guess that’s five top grade A Levels,” Owen said flatly. These results were incredible. They were everything Aunt Sybil had pushed for. He didn’t care.

 _“Congratulations, sweetie!”_ Mrs Mega cried.

 _“St. Andrew’s won’t know what hit it!”_ Barb added.

“Yeah,” Owen said. He set down the results, took another deep breath. He’d made his choice already. No going back now. “Except I’m not going to St. Andrew’s.”

 _“Wait, what?”_ Curt gasped. He actually pushed his own mother out of the way in an effort to get closer to the screen. _“You okay, babe? What happened?”_

Owen shrugged. “I don’t want to go.”

 _“Uhh, guys?”_ Barb said cautiously. _“I know this is very bad timing, but my roommate’s here. I gotta go. I want all the gossip later!”_ Before Owen even had chance to say goodbye, Barb was offline.

 _“What’s going on?_ ” Curt asked again.

“I called up this morning and rejected my place,” Owen said. “I… I’m still going to Scotland.”

 _“You mean…”_ Curt began.

“University of Edinburgh,” Owen confirmed with a nod. “Studying Literature. They jumped at the chance to have me.”

 _“Owen, that’s amazing!”_ Curt beamed. _“It’s everything you ever wanted!”_

“Almost everything,” Owen said pointedly. Mrs Mega’s gaze flicked between her son and the computer screen. She sighed, and pushed herself to her feet, cutting her face out of Owen’s view.

 _“I’m gonna let you boys talk,”_ she said. _“Congratulations, honey.”_ They waited in silence for her to leave the room. Curt drummed his fingers on the table. Owen lifted his hand in the air and Dean nodded, dropping his dish cloth and heading back over to the coffee machine.

 _“How did your Aunt take it?”_ Curt’s voice said through his earphones. He’d picked up the laptop and brought it over to the bed, face already pressed into the pillow. His hair looked like actual fluff, his cheek a little squashed and his eyes still red from sleep. It was, what, 11am for him? He had been working the closing shift, and they hadn’t even talked when he got home the night before. Owen waited, staring at Skype on his tree branch, waiting for the phone call. He must have been falling asleep before he even got home. God, he hoped Dick had given him a ride.

“I haven’t told her yet,” Owen admitted. Dean set the coffee cup at his table, and gave Curt his usual wave. He then flashed Owen his usual _you boys are so cute_ smile, which… well, it wasn’t the opportune time.

 _“Owen…”_ Curt groaned.

“I know, love.”

_“Your inheritance.”_

“I’ll work something out,” he said. He lifted the cup to his lips. The coffee was still too hot to drink but the mug hid just how much he was forcing his smile. “It’ll be okay.”

To his surprise, Curt didn’t even try to argue. His voice was soft with affection and sleep. _“I’m so proud of you,”_ he said fondly, _“I love you so much.”_

“Love you too.”

 _“Hey, I have news too!”_ Curt said, now grinning and propping his head up on his hand. _“Mr Big wants me to take over Dick’s shifts when he starts college!”_

“Curt, you’ll have college too.” Owen sighed.

_“Community college, Owen. It’s not the same.”_

“You’re already so tired all the time.” As if that was a trigger, Curt yawned. He insisted he was fine. Dick would probably do the same, not wanting Owen to be worried or his dad accused of overworking his staff. Owen made a mental note to question Kevin about it. Kevin would be honest.

 _“I know you’re worried, but the whole point of me going to community college is to give me time to figure out a life for myself without wrestling,”_ Curt always quietened when he brought up wrestling, and he probably didn’t realise it but he rubbed the back of his neck, just as he was doing now. Was it really only six months ago that he saw Curt in that hospital bed? Five months since they’d last kissed? It felt like ten years. _“And right now, the only future I care about is saving enough money to fly over and visit you.”_

“I told you I’d pay for your flight…”

_“And I told you I won’t take it. Plus, if Sybil cuts you off you’re gonna need that money. Might actually have to work for a living, rich boy.”_

“Shut up,” Owen muttered.

_“Seriously, though. I’m so excited for you. And when you’re out of that house, we’re gonna get to talk so much more.”_

“Yeah, when you’re not working twenty hours a day.”

 _“Babe…”_ Curt began.

“Love…” Owen responded mockingly.

_“Okay, I promise not to overwork myself if you promise not to let that bitch give you any shit.”_

“Deal.”

~~~

_Owen,_

_When you didn’t answer your phone, I called the school. They told me what you did._ _You will find a suitcase of your clothing in the study. You may return to collect the rest of your belongings after 10am tomorrow when I will not be home._ _I hope one day you recognise and appreciate the sacrifices I have made for you. I must allow you to make your own mistakes, but I will not support them._

_Please gather your things as soon as possible and leave. I have Catherine and Paul visiting this evening and I will not have you embarrass me in front of them._

_Sybil._

He’d made his choice.

The suitcase she’d packed for him was small, enough to maybe hold three days worth of clothes and underwear and little else. He was not going to accept that. He’d slipped off his shoes at the front door, and the house sounded silent. He knew she was home; her car was outside. He didn’t have much time. He crept carefully upstairs, skipping the third and seventh steps that always creaked. When he reached his room, he slowly inched the door closed, and rested his back against it, taking in a few steadying deep breaths as he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he cast a glance around his bedroom. If you could call it that. Sure, there was a bed. A desk, a bookshelf and a wardrobe. But nothing about it felt like a home. The walls were stark white. Aunt Sybil thought anything else was tacky, and posters were an absolute affront to her sensibilities. He grabbed another bag from the bottom of his wardrobe. He already had his essentials in the satchel slung over his shoulder. In this new bag he stuffed more clothes, not even looking at what he was grabbing. He took as many books as he could carry. In the drawer of his bedside cabinet, he took the stack of photographs, and quickly flipped through them. Barb, Tatiana and Curt laughing in the Mega living room; a photo Sergio and Maria had posted him of his visit to Mexico that summer; himself, Curt, the girls, Dick and Kevinat the goodbye party for the exchange students. A photo of himself and Barb when they met in Poland that July. Tatiana never joined them. Then he picked up the book he kept in that drawer always. It was a Mandarin phrase book, something Aunt Sybil or the housekeeper would never care to investigate. Inside it were the valuable photographs. The candids Tatiana took of his first kiss with Curt. The photo booth pictures from the day of their disastrous trip to the prison. Other pictures of Curt that were for nobody’s eyes but his.

He gathered up these photographs and slipped them inside one of his fiction books, leaving the Mandarin phrasebook behind. He always hated his language lessons anyway. His last stop was his sock drawer, where tucked in a pair of thick winter socks he’d stuffed wads of notes. He’d been steadily drawing cash out of the ATM all summer and hiding it. Like he knew this would happen. His bank account was his own, sure, but he wouldn’t trust Aunt Sybil not to keep tabs on it. Tomorrow he was changing banks.

He would only have one pair of shoes, those left by the front door, but that was okay. He cast one last look around the space. He would not collect the rest of his things. He would never come back here.

Downstairs, he put on his shoes and grabbed his suitcase from the study. The housekeeper was in there, pointedly avoiding his eyes. At the door, he pulled out his keys. The car, thankfully, was his own. He removed the house keys from the obnoxious key ring Curt had once given him and threw them to the floor.

And he was gone.

~~~

He drove aimlessly for hours, but didn’t get far. London traffic was typically horrendous. He blasted his music loudly from the stereo, thankful he kept all his CDs in a huge wallet under the passenger seat. He usually would listen to one of his favourites. Pulp’s _Different Class_ , James’ _Laid_ , anything by Blur. But not this time. He’d gradually worked Curt’s favourites into his CD collection. It was an absolute cliche that he’d chosen to listen to _I’m Not Okay (I Promise)_ , but something about it comforted him. He remembered Curt singing along to it in Barb's car, their hands entwined on the back seat as Tati propped her feet up on the dashboard and Barb hummed along. His car felt so empty.

He didn’t realise where he was going until he’d parked. He had no friends to crash with. He had enough cash on him to pay for a hotel but that felt so cold. He could have just abandoned his car at the airport and got on the first flight back to Curt. Had he remembered to pack his passport? He went to the one place in this city that actually made him smile.

The closed sign had already been turned on the door to Doris and Joan’s, but the lights were still on, and he could see through the window Dean sweeping the floor. His auburn hair was slightly balding, in the same spot on his crown where his own dad had started to lose it. His dad hated the idea of going bald. He never got the chance. The air was fresh, with a light breeze, even despite all the traffic, and Owen filled his lungs with it. It already felt healing. He rapped his knuckles lightly on the door. Dean scowled as he turned to the door, but his expression softened almost instantaneously. He unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“Alreet?” he said with a grin. “Did you forget somethin’?”

“I-umm…” Owen stammered. “I…I didn’t know where to go.”

Dean nodded. “Howay,” he said. “I’ll make you a brew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I promised a sequel, and I'm finally ready. I always knew I wanted the sequel to be from Owen's perspective, but it took me a while to figure out what direction I wanted to take things in.
> 
> A few notes:
> 
> \- Dear Exchange Student took all of its chapter titles from emo/pop-punk songs, as that was Curt's preferred music. Owen likes Britpop, so all of the chapters of this sequel are taken from songs by Britpop bands. This chapter's song is Mis-Shapes by Pulp.
> 
> \- Tatiana's absence will be explained.
> 
> \- Fuck Aunt Sybil.
> 
> \- On average, students in the UK in 2007 would do 3 A Levels and one AS Level. Owen having five A Levels at grade A*-A shows what an overachiever he is.
> 
> \- I'd already set up St. Andrew's and Law in DES before I realised they don't offer a Law degree at St. Andrew's, but they do offer International Relations. Not that that matters now because Owen told them to suck it.
> 
> \- With love and thanks to Dino, Pat, Tobi and Lilly.


	2. This Is How It Feels To Be Lonely

The hallway reminded him so much of Curt’s apartment building. The stark white paint job was matted with flecks of mud from rainy days and the plaster cracked and chipped away. It made the building look like more of a dump than was accurate. Dean still lived in a fairly nice neighbourhood; tenants could take care of their homes but the stairwell was not their responsibility. Owen ran his hand along the banister, cheap and plastic coated, nothing like the varnished wood of home. He should stop thinking of that place as home.

He thought what Curt would be doing at that moment. If he tried really hard, he could pretend that the body next to him was Curt, and they were just walking back to his front door, ready to be greeted by the smell of Mrs Mega’s baking. But it wouldn’t work; Dean’s build was too short, too stocky, his hair peppered with grey, and what use would the fantasy serve him anyway?

Dean slid his key into the lock and offered Owen a warm, reassuring smile before turning it and pushing the heavy door open. His apartment was small, but nicely decorated. The furniture all looked like it had been reclaimed from a vintage store, well-loved and rustic. Photo frames littered walls of the narrow hallway, all of a young boy with soft, loose brown curls. From the kitchen, the smell of bread. Aside from the lack of clutter, everywhere he turned, he saw Curt’s apartment.

“Maartje!” Dean called out, shrugging off his coat, “can you come here a second?” Owen stood limply on the entrance mat, his satchel slung over his shoulder. He’d left his suitcase and other bag down in his car. He didn’t bother to take off his own jacket, or even move to close the door behind him. He could have been back out that door any second.

A tall blonde woman rounded a corner, wiping her hands on a tea-towel. She towered over Dean, and she was slim, with an angular face framed by hair tied up in a messy ponytail, as if she hadn’t brushed it at all. There was a trail of flour across her left cheek.

“Owen, this is my wife, Maartje,” Dean said by way of introduction. Owen nodded, awkwardly shifting his weight.

“Pleased to meet you,” Maartje said with the slightest hint of an accent. Her voice was warm but her eyes were wary. “Come in, take off your coat.”

“Thank you,” Owen muttered, and carefully dropped his bag to the floor. He removed his jacket, enquired about the bathroom, and slipped inside, resting his forehead against the door as soon as it closed. He took in a few deep breaths, eyes squeezed shut, as he tried to gather himself. He could hear muttering out in the hall, but couldn’t make out the words until he heard Maartje hiss “you can’t just bring strange teenage boys into our home!”

“He’s nae strange,” Dean shot back, “he’s Owen.”

Owen pushed himself off the door, pulled down the toilet seat lid, and sat down with a sigh. He took his phone out of his pocket, staring blankly at the screen. Well, Aunt Sybil hadn’t left him any messages. Nobody had, except for one text from Barb saying that her new roommate was already smoking pot in their room.

He deleted three message drafts before he finally text Curt.

**Call me when you can? Need to talk. I love you x**

When he left the bathroom, the hallway was empty, so he followed the smell of bread. Maartje sat at a small dining table, sipping from a mug and staring straight at the door. The combined kitchen and dining room was a mess of utensils and ingredients, and Dean was busying himself by packaging up the bread rolls Owen distinctly recognised from Doris and Joan’s. It hadn’t occurred to him that they made the bread themselves. No wonder it always tasted comforting.

Maartje gestured for Owen to join her, and he pulled back the chair opposite her. She pushed forward the tray with an empty mug and a steaming teapot, but Owen didn’t fix himself a drink, only played with the hem of his shirt. “Jake’s asleep, and I don’t want to wake him up,” she began.

“Jakey’s our lad,” Dean interrupted. “He’s seven.”

“I’ll be quiet,” Owen said.

“We don’t have a spare room, but you can take the couch,” Maartje continued. “If you want to, that is.”

“Oh, oh no,” Owen stammered. He didn’t want to feel like a burden, a charity case. The last time he’d felt that way was being told his parents were dead. “I thought this was just dinner.”

“You cannae go anywhere else,” Dean said.”

“I can. I can pay for a hotel, or stay in my car.”

“Don’t talk daft,” Dean laughed. “Sleep in your car? Not a chance.”

“I don’t want to put you out.”

“From what you told me, you have no other options,” Dean stepped away from the counter, taking the third seat at the table. “You move to Scotland in two weeks. We can keep you until then.”

“Let me pay you then,” Owen insisted, fumbling in his pockets even though he knew his wallet was in the jacket hung up by the door. “For food, and bills and stuff.”

“No,” Maartje said warmly. “You can repay us by helping in the cafe. You will need your money.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Thank you is a good start.”

~~~

The rest of the evening was spent in only a slightly uncomfortable silence. After a long day of baking bread and serving coffee, Dean ordered pizza, curling up with his wife on the couch and watching television while Owen remained at the dining table with his laptop. He’d emailed Tatiana about his results, though he hadn’t told her what happened next. Not until Curt knew. He tried to arrange accommodation on campus, and applied for a student loan. He wouldn’t get it in time for the start of term, but hopefully he had enough in his personal savings to cover his rent until then. Aunt Sybil was going to pay his rent for St. Andrew’s out of his inheritance. He hadn’t seen the need for a loan.

“Surely it can’t be legal,” Maartje had said while they waited for the pizza. “It’s your money.”

“She controls it until I’m 21,” Owen shrugged, “what can I do?”

He now stared at his MSN home screen. He was set to online. Kevin was on there, and Owen thought about asking him about how much Curt was working, but he was set to Do Not Disturb. Owen shifted under the blanket that covered him. The couch was neither as comfortable as his old bed, nor as inviting as Curt’s. He could swear he felt a toy car digging in his back but he couldn’t find it anywhere. He flicked to MySpace. Alphonse had put him in his top 8 friends and god only knew why. Curt had been inactive there too. No texts, no calls. Nobody was on Skype, not even Sergio and Maria, and they were usually talking every night. Maybe they’d moved to college together now too.

Owen heard a creak from a bed behind a door that had remained closed all night. Jake, Dean’s son. He didn’t even think what would happen if Jake awoke to find him there, with no explanation. Owen groaned, and pulled himself as quietly as possible to his feet. He padded across the floor and slipped on his shoes by the front door, taking only his phone with him. He was getting good at sneaking around. He turned the Yale lock, so that the front door wouldn’t close fully behind him, and stepped out into the stairwell. He had one last number to try.

_“Mega residence.”_

“Hi,” he said, knot in his stomach already loosening at the sound of Mrs Mega’s voice. “Is Curt there?”

_“Owen? Oh hi, sweetie! Why are you calling the house phone?”_

“Sorry, I can’t get hold of Curt. Is he there?”

_“He’s at work, honey. Do you want me to give him a message?”_

“I thought he didn't work today.”

_“He doesn't, but Dick wanted to spend some time with Kevin before he leaves. You know how it is.”_

So that was why Kevin was on Do Not Disturb. “Curt took his shift?”

_“Yeah, he’s such a hard worker. Never woulda believed it until he met you.”_

“Can you… can you just tell him I called?”

_“Sure thing. Is something wrong?”_

“No, everything’s fine.”

_“Don’t lie to me, Owen Carvour. I’m practically your mother-in-law.”_

“I’m fine,” Owen snapped. He immediately regretted it when he heard his voice echo down the stairwell. “Sorry I just… I miss him.”

_“He misses you too. Hey, so this Christmas, are you-”_

“I gotta go,” Owen said sharply, hanging up the phone and swallowing the lump in his throat.

~~~

**From: curtmegazord@hotmail.com**

**To: owencrox@yahoo.co.uk**

oweeeeeeeeeeen!!!!!!! !1

omg I’m so sorrieeee. mom told me u called an I tried 2 call u but u must b asleep or busy. dick an kev wanted 2 bang b4 dick moves away an can I blame him?? Fuckin kevin gettin laid wen im not. i think about you every nite, touching me an kissing me an fuck i miss being wiv u. i want u so bad. i took dicks shift an this guy came in2 the diner an i think he woz flirtin wiv me. he asked me 2 go out afta work an i told him i have a bf bcoz I LOVE YOU SO MUCH OWEN XD an he sed its fine but he sed he goes 2 da community college so i went wiv him 2 meet ppl from there an make friends but i kept my lips an my hands 2 myself bcoz their only 4 u babyyyy but now its 3am an im drunk an i never answered u back plz 4give me!!!!!!

i love you so much an im so proud of u for goin 2 EDINBURGH!!! how did ur aunt take it? woz dat y u called me? o fuck. owen i fucked up i shud av answered r u ok? im da worst bf an im cryin now fuckin ahhhh.

**From: curtmegazord@hotmail.com**

**To: owencrox@yahoo.co.uk**

i dont even no wot time it is 4 u n if ur even still asleep but plz wake up an get on skype so we can fall asleep 2getha. i miss u and i love you so much an im sorry im drunk when u need me.

**From: curtmegazord@hotmail.com**

**To: owencrox@yahoo.co.uk**

remember da 1st time u kissed me. not our 1st kiss bcoz i kissed u 1st. but da 1st time u kissed me?

dat wuz soooooooo hot. i wanna kiss u.

**From: curtmegazord@hotmail.com To: owencrox@yahoo.co.uk**

The thought of not being with you, I can’t breathe!

**From: curtmegazord@hotmail.com To: owencrox@yahoo.co.uk**

k so my last email woz a star wars quote but its true. plz get on skype i cant sleep wivout speakin 2 u

**From: curtmegazord@hotmail.com**

**To: owencrox@yahoo.co.uk**

r u dead? did sybil kill u? fuck ur aunt i hate her. 4get edinburgh move here i want u here

**From: curtmegazord@hotmail.com**

**To: owencrox@yahoo.co.uk**

im sorry i no this is ur dream university n im bein selfish. an im sorry 4 goin our an gettin drunk wiv anuva guy. i promise nothin happened. i love you an only u. Sorry i wasnt there 2nite. call me as soon as u can. even if im workin i promise ill answer. ill sleep with both my phone an laptop next 2 me so i wake up if u call.

plz 4give me <3 <3 <3

**~~~**

Curt needed to learn timezones; that was Owen’s official assessment. He wasn’t in bed, especially not when Dean had him up at the crack of dawn for the morning coffee rush. Owen knew a lot of things, but working a coffee machine was not one of them. He’d cut his hand on the lid of a half fat creamer. He’d spilt boiling hot cappuccino all down his front. After the fourth accident, Dean had set him to clearing tables, loading the dishwasher, and restocking. He’d never had a job before, and working was _dull_.

He finally got a break around 2pm, when the lunch crowd had filtered out. He took his usual table and a bottle of water, already sick of the sight of coffee, and checked over his emails. There was one from Tatiana, with “Congratulations” in the subject line and the body of the message blank. It wasn’t from her Russian email address, but the one she’d set up in the US. The accommodation team at the University of Edinburgh had confirmed his place on campus, which at least meant he was only homeless for a couple more weeks. And Curt had emailed him 43 times.

The first few emails were full of drunken apologies, ridiculous spelling mistakes, and professions of love. They later devolved into pictures of cats in fancy dress costumes, shirtless photos of Christian Bale, and gifs from Hot Fuzz.

Owen closed his browser without replying.

**~~~**

_“Owen!”_ Hearing Curt’s voice was like breathing in air after a lifetime of drowning. He was finally, mercifully alone, Dave and Maartje having gone out for the night, leaving Jake with Maartje’s sister down in Putney rather than have the strange 18 year old who’d lived with them for a day as a babysitter. They gave each other awkward looks in the doorway before they left, both of them wondering if it was weirder to leave their new, teenage houseguest alone in their home, or to invite him on their date. Owen pre-empted them, pointedly saying how tired he was and how he was developing a headache. They left without asking him. He’d spent the whole evening staring at Skype on his laptop screen, waiting for the little green dot by Curt’s profile picture. And now, finally, he was here.

“Hey,” Owen said around a yawn. He wasn’t lying about the fatigue. It was still light in Curt’s bedroom, but they were still in the long days of summer, and it had only just gone dark outside Owen’s own window. Even with Curt’s poorer quality webcam, Owen marvelled at how the sunlight glinted off his hair. He radiated warmth, and Owen longed to reach out and touch it.

 _“Oh my god,”_ Curt’s voice was a little excitable, a little frantic. It had only been a day since they last spoke, but so much had changed since then. Owen had lost everything and Curt had… Curt was having fun. And that was fine. Totally fine. _“I thought you were pissed with me. I was such a mess last night.”_

“It’s fine.” Was it fine? In all honesty, as much as he trusted that Curt had behaved himself, he couldn’t help but feel resentful. Curt _knew_ Owen was going to face Aunt Sybil. Curt _chose_ to help out Dick and Kevin and get wasted instead.

 _You’re overthinking things_ , he told himself. _None of this is his fault._

 _“No it’s not, I…”_ Curt began, picking up on Owen’s long pause. Then he bit his lip. _“Wait. Where are you?”_

Owen sucked in a breath. “Love, there’s something I have to tell you.”

_“Howdy!”_

Behind Curt on the screen, his bedroom door burst open, smacking against the wall and knocking one of the posters down. Dick Big’s grin was wide and welcoming. Once Owen had been able to push the thoughts of Dick and Curt making out from his mind, that smile always warmed Owen’s heart. Dick Big was a man who never looked troubled. Owen would give anything to be a tenth as carefree.

 _“Hey, Carvour.”_ That voice was Kevin’s, and he flung himself down next to Curt on his bed. Kevin’s shoulders had filled out, now about as broad as Curt’s, and he’d grown his hair out a little longer so it flopped over his face in a loose wave. His chest hair poked out over the low neckline of his tank top. In five months he managed to look thirty years old, in a good way. And he’d raised his arm to rest on Curt’s shoulder. Kevin and Curt were _friends_ now. And Curt was no longer alone.

“Dick, Kevin, what are-”

 _“I move to Texas tomorrow!”_ Dick said, beaming. Because _of course_ Dick Big was going to school in Texas.

 _“Finally amongst the_ real _cowboys,”_ Kevin joked, leaning into Curt conspiratorially. Curt groaned and rolled his eyes.

 _“I am a fine Southern gentleman,”_ Dick insisted. He was still stood up, hands resting on his hips so the fringe of his sleeves draped down.

 _“You’re about as authentic a cowboy as Yosemite Sam,”_ Kevin laughed.

_“You like Yosemite Sam!”_

Kevin grabbed Dick’s arm and pulled him down to join them on the bed. _“Good job I like you, then,”_ he said, and pecked Dick on the cheek.

 _“Guys, will you shut up?”_ Curt snapped. He turned back to the screen, his eyeline a little off as he looked at Owen rather than the camera. _“Sorry, babe. It’s Dick’s last night; we’re going out.”_

“Oh cool,” Owen said, a tightness building in his chest. Another time that they couldn’t talk. At least they’d be gone soon. But Curt would be hanging out with the guy from last night. Owen was terrible for wishing Curt was lonely. “And Kevin,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “when do you move?”

_“I don’t.”_

“I thought you got the wrestling scholarship in Atlanta?”

 _“Albuquerque,”_ Kevin said. _“And I did, but I’m taking a year out.”_

Dick nudged Kevin’s shoulder. _“He wants to try for a scholarship to be by my side next year. Ain’t he sweet.”_

_“Don’t get too soppy, Dick. I just don’t want to move to New Mexico.”_

_“Will you shut up?”_ Curt insisted. He leaned forward and the image started moving. Curt was pulling the laptop closer to himself, cutting Dick out of the shot. _“Owen, where are you?”_

“Can…” He dropped his voice low, even though that would do nothing to stop Dick and Kevin hearing. “Curt, we need to talk.”

 _“That’s our queue to wish good evening to your delightful mother,”_ he heard Dick’s voice say. _“C’mon Kevin.”_

 _“Fine,”_ Kevin said. He gave a quick salute to the camera. _“Later, Carvour.”_

They waited in silence for Dick and Kevin to leave, Owen twisting the tassles of the couch cushions between his fingers. Curt brought the laptop even closer as soon as the door closed, worry etched on his face. _“Owen, what’s happening? I told you nothing happened with that guy.”_

“It’s not that.”

He was desperate, pleading. It’d be quite funny in other circumstances. _“I promise I would never cheat on you,”_ he begged. _“Please don’t end this.”_

He didn’t give a shit about the stupid guy who got Curt drunk, or Dick and Kevin, or even Curt taking on more shifts at the diner. He just wanted him to bloody _listen._ “Curt will you get your head out of your own arse for two minutes?” he spat. When the words were out of his mouth, his shoulders sagged, and he brought a hand up to his long hair, tugging it in frustration. The hand fell uselessly into his lap. “Sorry, I’m just… it’s been a rough couple of days.”

_“What’s happened?”_

“Aunt Sybil - she kinda kicked me out.”

_“What?”_

“It’s fine, honestly!” It wasn’t fine. “I’m at a friend’s.” He was at the local baristas because he didn’t have any friends.

 _“Owen, she can’t do that!”_ Curt’s fist was balled up in his sheets. Curt felt everything so deeply. Owen wished he wasn’t so scared to do the same sometimes. But shutting off his feelings made it hurt less when things went wrong, which was all the time. _“She’s your legal guardian.”_

“I’m almost 19,” Owen said, resigned. “She can do what she likes.” He could fight this if he wanted. Hire a solicitor, try to get his fortune. But he was just so tired.

_“So she can stop providing for you but can still control your inheritance for another three years? That’s fucked up.”_

“Yep.” God, he wanted this conversation. He had been desperate to speak to Curt since he found that note making him homeless. And now he had nothing to say.

_“What are you going to do?”_

Owen shrugged. “I don’t know. Get a job like everyone else.” He looked down at the plaster covering the cut on his palm. “But not in a cafe.” He let out a long exhale. “It’s better this way.”

_“I guess, but-”_

“But what?”

Curt shook his head. _“No, it’s selfish.”_

“But what, Curt?”

 _“Is this going to mean you can’t visit this Christmas?”_ Curt’s gaze fell into his lap.

He hadn’t even thought about that. He’d been so preoccupied with finding somewhere to live and getting a loan and wanting to talk to Curt and trying to figure out how to make a damn decaf macchiato that he hadn’t even considered the one thing that made all those nights sleeping facing his laptop screen worth it. The knowledge that it was all temporary, that he’d touch Curt’s skin, kiss his lips, share his bed once more. “I’ll have to use my personal savings for living expenses so… yeah, I guess I can’t.” One more thing Aunt Sybil had taken from him.

_“As long as you’re doing what makes you happy.”_

_It’s not._ “Curt, I’m sorry.” _Is Edinburgh more important than Curt? You fucking idiot._

 _“Don’t be,”_ Curt said, his smile at least partly sincere. _“I’m proud of you. I just-”_

Behind him the door opened, and Kevin stuck his head through. _“Mega, hurry up! We’ll be late.”_

“You should get going,” Owen insisted.

 _“I could stay home,”_ Curt said, looking from Kevin to Owen. _“We can talk.”_

“Have fun, love you!” Owen said quickly, and disconnected the call. He would give it all up, university, Edinburgh, his family, and fly straight to Curt right that damn second. He _had_ remembered his passport, after all. But it wasn’t that simple. He’d need a visa. Would they even grant him a working visa? He wouldn’t be a student. Maybe he _should_ apply to an American university instead. How did he even do that? Could he do that with no fixed address? Immigration were not just going to let some homeless teenager move to the US because he missed his boyfriend.

He shut the laptop, left it on the table, and covered himself with the blankets. When Dean and Maartje came home, he pretended he was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Continuing with Owen's Britpop playlist, the title of this chapter comes from the song This Is How It Feels by Inspiral Carpets.  
> \- Dean and Maartje aren't important characters but I love them.  
> \- I promise the mystery of Tatiana's aloofness will be answered.  
> \- Kevbig still own my whole damn heart.  
> \- Writing Drunk Curt's emails is like a fever dream.


	3. Capital Flash in a Stupid Love

By the time he’d reached Milton Keynes, he wished he’d taken the train.

“Do you _know_ how long it takes to drive to Edinburgh?” Maartje had asked him when he set off that morning, but Owen just shrugged and stuffed his mouth with another bite of toast. Sure, even the train was five and a half hours, but the car was what he had left. The only things that were wholly his until he turned 21 were his laptop and his car.

Owen pulled into the service station, parked up, and tried to stop himself checking his phone. It was 2:30am for Curt, and he didn’t even know if he’d got home yet. He’d text Owen a few hours earlier saying he was going to yet another community college party with Kevin after work, that he hoped the move went well, and that he loved him. But they hadn’t Skyped since Owen’s second night at Dean and Maartje’s. Curt worked every evening, then seemed to party every night, and every day he was either sleeping or at his orientation. Owen got texts maybe three times a day, and if he was lucky, a voicemail. _Barb_ had Skyped him more often.

He didn’t realise he was biting his lip until it began to sting. He ran a hand through his hair, huffed out a breath, and picked up his phone.

 **gud luck! were always here 4u!** It was Dean. Nothing from Curt, again.

Owen gripped the steering wheel, pressed his forehead against his whitening knuckles, and groaned. This was stupid. Curt was probably home and asleep. He didn’t need to read anything into it. They hadn’t Skyped because Owen was a guest in someone’s home. Once he was on campus and settled into his own space, things would be different. Things would be better. There wouldn’t even be Aunt Sybil. It could just be them. It was fine.

He switched out the CD in his car’s stereo. He only had ten CDs in his car, and three were albums he bought because Curt liked them. He didn’t need to hear those right now. He didn’t need to be tortured audibly by his own pathetic pining for several more hours in motorway traffic. _Definitely Maybe_ would do.

Owen hated the motorway. Riding down the highways in Barb’s adorable Mini, in the crisp spring air of their road trip; that had been exhilarating. Sure, summers in England weren’t exactly hot, but his car was stuffy, and the road was so boring, and he had to avoid the right-most lane as much as possible. His parents had crashed in the right-most lane. At least that had been winter.

“Stop it,” he hissed at himself. “This is great! You’re going to Edinburgh! This is what you want!”

This was going to be a long drive.

~~~

Parking was an issue. He knew his halls of residence didn’t provide student parking but he didn’t expect to spend the hour after he reached Edinburgh driving round trying to find a place to park, and it was already almost 9pm. Central Edinburgh was not built for traffic. His new flat in Mylnes Court was only a couple of minutes walk away from the actual castle. The streets were beautiful, but Edinburgh was one of those cities where even when you were going downhill, it felt like you were walking uphill. He eventually found a place to leave his car down a side street, and found himself walking leisurely up the Royal Mile. Posters from the Fringe Festival still littered the streets, now defaced with crude graffiti or torn at the edges, but a reminder of the vibrancy of Edinburgh in August. He’d always wanted to go to the festival, but Aunt Sybil had never let him.

The good news was that, with his hasty retreat from home, he only had the couple of bags from Dave and Maartje’s to lug with him. His student loan still hadn’t come through, since he applied late, and the university had been understanding in allowing him to pay that semester’s rent late. He had his own personal savings, but he needed to be responsible. He’d just have to wear the same three outfits until the loan was in his account.

His phone hadn’t had a single alert for the rest of the drive, not a single message from Curt. Did he even remember Owen was moving that day? He pulled out his phone, and thumbed a quick message to Dave. He thought about sending one to Aunt Sybil too. Just _Hello, you might want to know that I’m alive._ She’d been more distant than Curt had been. He quickly put the phone back in his pocket.

The air felt fresher up here. Maybe it was the higher altitude, the lack of traffic (even with Edinburgh also being a capital, it wasn’t nearly as suffocating as London), or just the freedom of finally being where he wanted to be. _Edinburgh_. His _dream_. He just wished he wasn’t alone.

He finally stepped into Mylnes Court at 9:40pm. Welcomes for the freshers were supposed to take place at midday, but thankfully there was a person working security who gave him his key and directed him to his flat. The building was classic and historic, covered in original brown stone, with that old-fashioned village atmosphere that reminded him of his time before London, of where his parents raised him. But it was old, and he wasn’t expecting to be living the life of luxury. He couldn’t wait.

He was supposed to have a single bed. That was fine. He’d not had a single bed since he was six years old, aside from that time in America, although he spent most of his time there in _Curt’s_ single bed. It suited him to the ground. When he was alone, he usually bundled himself up in the corner of the mattress anyway, tucking his long legs into his chest and making himself as compact as possible. The rest of the bed was always a waste. He was to live in a five person flat, with four strangers. They’d have to share two shower rooms and toilets between them. He’d been so used to his en suite at Aunt Sybil’s place. But hey, everybody poops. He could share a bathroom with strangers. The main thing was having his own bedroom. Barb had Skyped him a few times while he’d been with Dave and Maartje and her roommate was always just… _there._ American college sounded like hell.

As he opened the door to his flat on the third floor, he was greeted with a huge roar. This was so much more than four other people. There were at least twenty, spilling out of the kitchen into the hall, and they were all _wasted._ Of course he’d end up assigned to the party flat. There must have been three packs of playing cards scattered over the carpet, in amongst all the empty bottles.

“Heeeeeeeeeey!” A guy cheered, slinging an arm over Owen’s shoulder. He wore thick glasses and had a dark blonde bowl cut, but it was a look that screamed he was doing it ironically. His jacket was a frankly revolting shade of brown, paired with a salmon pink shirt. He was doing vintage fashion entirely the wrong way. His accent sounded familiar but Owen couldn’t place it, and his grin looked like someone was stretching his mouth open with wires.

“Hi,” Owen said with a forced smile. “I’m in room four?”

“You live here?” The guy gasped. “Flip-diggity! You’re the missing housemate! We thought you weren’t coming! Hey Irene!” He grabbed Owen’s shoulders and pushed him down the narrow hall, sloshing another guy’s drink onto some girl’s dress as he went. Neither seemed to care. The music was so _loud._

“Irene!” The guy called again. Owen blinked once, twice, a third time as he tried to register the red haired girl before him. As she turned her head, he could have sworn she was Tatiana.

“I’m talking, Vanger!” she hissed, then quickly shut up at the sight of Owen and plastered on a smile. “Oh, hello.” Okay, this was not Tatiana. Her face was softer, less sure of herself, her hair shorter, and her voice carried a soft Scottish lilt. But physically, the resemblance was striking. Nobody had heard from Tatiana in months. Even Barb said she was MIA. Looking at Irene now was just uncomfortable.

“This is…” the guy Vanger trailed off.

“Owen.”

“ _Owen!_ ” Vanger cried triumphantly. “He’s in room four!”

“Oh, so we live together,” Irene said. “Good to know.”

Vanger’s grip on his shoulders tightened as the music changed, and he started bouncing. Oh god, was this _Soulja Boy_? “I love this song!” Vanger cried, and ran for the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” Irene asked, with a polite yet uncomfortable smile still plastered to her face.

“Long drive,” Owen sighed. “I just want to unpack.” Irene cast a confused glance at the single suitcase in his hand, and pointed in the direction of his bedroom door.

Owen entered the bedroom and immediately slammed the door closed behind him, pressing his back up against the wood. The old walls seemed to be vibrating, and the sound of twenty drunk teenagers screaming “ _Youuuuuu crank dat Soulja Boy!_ ” echoed through. He was already getting a headache.

After taking a couple of deep breaths, he stepped away from the door, and dumped his duffel bag on the mattress. That was something he hadn’t considered. They didn’t provide blankets or duvets. Guess he was sleeping with his coat over him that night, if he could even sleep. The room was pretty basic. A plain mattress on a wooden bed frame with a single pillow, a bedside table, a desk and chair, and a few shelves. The walls were a stark, boring white. It looked soulless, empty, and his meagre possessions wouldn’t exactly make it look homely. So he ditched unpacking altogether, and took out the only thing that mattered, his laptop.

Thankfully, the building had wi-fi, and even in a building as old as this was, it was pretty high speed. Much better than the connection at Dave and Maartje’s anyway. He checked his emails first, which were flooded with information from the university but little else. Then his MySpace. Alphonse was the only person who had updated his MySpace in weeks. MSN Messenger was barren, just a few kids from his school online that he never really wanted to speak to again. And finally, Skype.

_Curt Mega - online._

He’d clicked the call button automatically, and Curt’s face filled the screen before he’d even realised what was happening. Curt’s beautiful, sleepy, sun-kissed face. It was afternoon for him, but he was still lying in bed, his hair mussed and his face squished into the pillow. His eyes were squinting a little, like he’d maybe just woken up from a nap, or the sun from his window was obstructing his vision, and he looked so cute. Owen felt the lump in his throat just at the sight of him.

“ _Hey,_ ” Curt said, his voice a little hoarse.

“Oh my god, I love you.” The words tumbled uncontrollably out of his mouth.

Curt sat up a little at that, his hair stuck up where his face had been pressed into the pillow. “ _Okay, what’s wrong?_ ”

“Huh?”

“ _You went straight to I love you before you even said hey. What’s up?”_

 _What’s up is you’ve been ignoring me for two of the worst weeks in my life and I’m not even mad at you._ “Nothing, I just… I’ve missed you. We haven’t talked face to face in so long.”

“ _Sorry babe, been making that money,”_ Curt chuckled, his face falling back into the pillow. “ _Been thinking about you every day though._ ”

Owen’s heart fluttered a little. He was right there. Yeah, he wasn’t there in person, but his face, his voice. It was intoxicating. “Me too, love.” Curt’s webcam wasn’t the best quality, but even through the pixels, he could see he looked tired. “You look exhausted.”

“ _So do you,_ ” Curt laughed, but Owen probably did. “ _Dick Sr. sent me home sick._ ”

“You’re sick?”

“ _Hungover,_ ” Curt shrugged. “ _Don’t tell him. But it means I get to be home to talk to you and…_ ” He paused for a moment, staring into space as if listening out for something. “ _Are you listening to Enrique Iglesias? Owen, where are you?_ ”

Yep, that was the Ping Pong Song floating in from the corridor. He heard the distant sound of a glass smashing. Maybe he could still get reassigned to different halls. “You forgot,” he said to Curt, “didn’t you?”

Curt’s face suddenly got closer. He must have pulled the laptop onto his pillow. “ _Oh shit, is it today?_ ”

“It’s today.”

“ _Edinburgh!_ ” He said excitedly. “ _Is it amazing?_ ”

Owen shrugged, “I mean I didn’t get here until 9pm and my room is a prison cell and there seems to be a rave happening in my kitchen, but the buildings are pretty.”

“ _But you’re_ there _, babe. You did it!”_ Curt’s smile was wide, wrinkling up his eyes and exposing his perfect teeth. Everything felt okay, looking at that smile.

“Yeah, I’m here!”

“ _So where’s your roommate?_ ”

“I don’t have one.”

“ _You get your own room? Oh man, Owen, do you know what this means?_ ”

Owen laughed. “That the only snoring I ever have to listen to is yours?”

“ _No,_ ” Curt said seriously. “ _Babe, we get to be_ alone _.”_

He was right. Holy shit, he was right. He didn’t have to climb out onto that tree branch, and whisper into his laptop mic so Sybil didn’t hear him. He didn’t have to tiptoe around Dean and Maartje’s kitchen, laptop in one hand and glass of milk in another, so he didn’t wake up Jake. For the first time since America, he could have Curt all to himself. University was awesome.

“ _Get in bed,_ ” Curt ordered. Owen immediately pushed his duffel bag onto the floor and swung his legs up onto the mattress.

“It’s rather more getting on the bed,” Owen chuckled. “I didn’t bring any bedding.”

“ _No blankets?_ ” Curt said. He raised an eyebrow. “ _So I get the full show?_ ”

“Curt…” Owen warned, but he could already feel the flush rising to his cheeks, his neck.

“ _It’s been so long,_ ” Curt groaned. “ _Wish I could just touch you._ ”

It was hot in there. Had they already switched over to the winter heating? He was sweating. His jacket had already been discarded, but maybe he could unfasten a few buttons. “Keep talking.”

Curt had pushed down his blanket, exposing his bare chest and light chest hair. He had one hand in his messy hair and the other trailing lazily over his skin. He was exquisite.

“ _I wish I could feel your lips on my neck, just…”_ his hand came to rest on his collarbone, fingers lightly brushing against it, “ _here._ ”

“I want that more than anything,” Owen said gruffly. His shirt was now fully unbuttoned, and he was shrugging it off his shoulders. “What else?”

“ _I want you to look me straight in the eyes while you-”_

His bedroom door burst open, crashing against the wall with a catastrophic bang. Owen jumped, almost sending the laptop careening to the floor, but it managed to steady itself in the thin gap between the mattress and the bedside table. He watched, wide-eyed, as Vanger recovered from his stumble. His bedroom carpet was already sopped in whatever Vanger was drinking, but at least whatever it was was clear.

“We’re going out!” Vanger cried. “Come!”

“I’m… I…” Owen stammered. He thought to pull his shirt closed over his chest, and god, he hoped Vanger didn’t notice the situation happening a little lower.

“Fresher’s week, my friend!” Vanger laughed. “Grassmarket awaits!” And then he was gone, not even waiting for Owen’s reply. So his door didn’t automatically lock behind him. Good to know.

Owen scrambled for the laptop, resting it on the table and hauling himself upright, hastily fastening his buttons. On the screen, Curt was barely containing his laughter.

“Shut up, _”_ Owen muttered.

“ _I guess we don’t have_ that _much privacy._ ”

“We will soon. Let’s just talk until they leave.”

“ _You should go with them,_ ” Curt said. Was he being serious? They hadn’t talked, properly talked, in weeks, since before Owen’s life had completely turned on its head, and Curt was telling him to go?

“I want to be with you,” Owen said softly.

“ _Me too,_ ” Curt said. “ _But I also don’t want to get in the way of your big adventure. Go, have fun!_ ”

He had a point. He hadn’t had fun in a _long_ time. “Are you sure?”

“ _Of course,_ ” Curt said. “ _Make some friends and enjoy yourself. I promise I’ll be here for Drunk Owen when you get home._ ”

“Pick up where we left off?”

“ _Absolutely._ ”

So, that was it. In a day, he’d driven the length of a country, been caught by a stranger getting hot and heavy on the internet with his boyfriend, and now he was going on his first Fresher’s Week night out. What could go wrong?

Freshened up, and with his hand on the door handle, he checked his phone once again.

 **I love you more than barb loves science** the text read.

 **Impossible x** Owen replied.

**ur impossible <3**

**I love you too xxx**

~~~

There’s an old saying that wherever you go in the world, you’ll find an Irish pub, and Edinburgh was no different. Okay sure, Scotland wasn’t exactly far removed from Ireland geographically or culturally, but it was true. Finnegan’s Wake, on the sloping, cobblestoned trail of Grassmarket, was one of the better ones, even if Owen suspected he was the only person in the establishment who had read the book.

He was on his third Red Grouse with a Coke mixer (he tried to ignore the eyeroll of the bartender when he didn’t order it straight) before he actually began to relax, and didn’t keep checking his phone every two minutes. Curt had sent a couple more texts, basically just asking if he was having fun and complaining that his mum had got him out of bed to do laundry. Owen settled himself into a corner of the bar. There were no stools available, and all the tables were taken. Vanger and Irene were on the dance floor while the house band played a song he vaguely knew called Galway Girl, screaming out the refrain “day-eye-ay-eye-ay!” but clearly clueless on the rest of the words. He didn’t recognise any of the other people surrounding them. Even on the walk to the pub Owen hung back alone as Vanger led the pack. He didn’t even know who the other two housemates were. But from his vantage point, he could size them up a little. Vanger carried himself tall, shoulders back, exuding confidence that only seemed a little bit fragile. He reminded Owen of Sergio in a way. He felt most at home in a crowd, was a little too excitable, and had no indoor voice. Irene, well, Irene may be the shyest girl he ever met. Even now, tipsy and dancing and singing, she would cast a furtive eye over the crowd, to see if anybody was watching her. She was like a mouse with Tatiana’s hair. The pub was a mix of excitable students and groups of blokes on a stag do and barely a local in sight, from what Owen could pick up with the accents and general demeanour. He knew Grassmarket on a Saturday would be a tourist trap, he had been here before, but he didn’t quite expect how much. Curt’s town had been refreshing because it was local. This was just another (cleaner, prettier, less crowded) London.

Or maybe he was just tired. He should loosen up. Like Curt said, this was the start of his adventure. He down his drink and paid for another, slinking his way through the crowd to join his two new housemates. Vanger grinned and grabbed his hand as the band struck up the fiddle solo, spinning Owen under his arm and laughing.

“My friend I was starting to think you didn’t have a personality!” he laughed.

“Just needed to get warmed up,” Owen said, sheepishly. Owen felt his phone buzz in his pocket but he didn’t check it this time. _What if it’s Curt? Well, he can wait. Owen waited two weeks while he partied. It was Curt’s turn._

“I’m Vanger Borschtit,” Vanger yelled over the music.

“Owen Carvour,” Owen responded, and took a sip of his new drink, already half-spilled over his fist from Vanger twirling him. “Where are you from?”

“It’s a small European territory. You won’t have heard of it.”

“My Geography’s pretty good,” Owen said. “Try me.”

“Okay,” Vanger said, stepping closer to talk into Owen’s ear. “Have you heard of Prussian Sloviskia?”

Owen stepped back, eyes wide. “You are fucking kidding me.”

“So you have.”

“Prussian Sloviskia? Seriously?” Owen laughed hard, remembering the constantly dazed little boy who followed Sergio around Curt’s school like a doped-up puppy. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I just know someone from there.”

“Really?” Vanger said, surprised, “our population is so small, that is very surprising.”

“Yeah, his name was Feurgin. Weird little guy, didn’t talk much.”

“Oh,” Vanger nodded sagely. “That is our prince.”

Owen spluttered. “Excuse me? Your _what now_?”

“Yes, the only son of King Leiven. We actually went to school together.”

“Feurgin is a _royal_?” What was in this drink? It had to be more than whiskey.

“We are a _very_ small country.”

At some point in the conversation, Irene had disappeared, probably to the bathroom. Vanger very quickly returned to dancing, and Owen scrambled to get his phone out of his pocket.

 **thinkin bout ur hands** Curt’s previous text read.

 **Sorry** Owen responded, **don’t mean to interrupt you fantasising about me, but you will never guess what I just found out!**

 **tell me!** Curt sent back almost immediately.

**Feurgin is a PRINCE.**

**wow i thort u cud handle ur drink ;) get sum water**

He needed more answers. His mind was blown, but Vanger was already on to talking to the next person, and suddenly Owen was alone again in the middle of the dance floor. Okay, time to make friends. He made friends so easily in America, he could do it here too. He could be charming. He _was_ charming. He charmed the pants off Curt, quite literally. There was no reason for him to be nervous this time.

He scanned the crowd for Irene. She seemed safe, and just as anxious about the whole experience as he did. He was tall, but even then finding her amongst the crowd was a difficult task. Eventually he saw the sleek red hair at the bar. She was facing away from him, ordering a drink. She must have tied her hair back in the bathroom, which he didn’t blame her for. It was hot in there.

Offering to buy her a drink seemed like a nice way to make friends. Not in a creepy way that would make her feel like it was a come on. Maybe he could open with “Hi Irene, I’m gay. Shall I get this round?” It was as awkward an introduction as any.

At the bar, Irene had her purse in her hand, and the bartender had just set her drink down. He tapped her on the shoulder before she could reach for her money. “Hey, let me get this one.”

“I can pay for my own drinks, Owen Carvour.” The voice was unmistakeable. It was only then that Owen realised her hair was longer, she was wearing different clothes. Okay, now he _must_ be drunk.

“…Tati?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Okay so I struggled a little with this one. I had a 15k word assignment due for uni and switching from my academic brain to my creative one was hard. Oh well.  
> \- The title of this chapter comes from The Chemistry Between Us by Suede, to continue Owen's Britpop playlist.  
> \- TATI.


	4. Some Nights the Spotlight's on Shy People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. I am sorry for the huge delay in updating. I had massive university assignments, the stress of moving my job online, and the general lack of motivation from lockdown. Things are rough and I hope you're all hanging in there. I know motivating myself to write has been super hard for me but I'm glad I'm back. I'm not wholly satisfied but honestly, just getting the chapter out there is what I need right now.

“ _Tati?_ ”

It was _her_. But it couldn’t be her. Because she was in Russia, and the person in front of him was Irene, wasn’t it? Her face was more stern than Irene’s, more confident and cool. It was the face he recognised from those days with Curt, the one that tried to hide her own affectionate smile when Barb said something goofy. But it couldn’t be.

“Hello, Owen.”

“What are you _doing_ here?” Owen asked. He glanced down at the empty glass in his hand. Had someone slipped something in his drink? It would explain so much. There was no way Feurgin was the prince of Vanger’s home country and there was no way Tatiana Slozhno was stood before him in the middle of a pub in Edinburgh.

“What are _you_ doing here, Owen?” She turned back to the increasingly impatient bartender, handed him a note and didn’t wait for her change. “You are supposed to be at St. Andrews.”

Owen shrugged, “change of plan.”

“Likewise,” Tatiana said. She took a sip of her drink, and stepped away from the bar. Owen followed her, to one of the wooden standing tables hidden in a shady corner beneath the list of whisky on offer. He’d never realised there were so many types.

He waited in silence for a moment, watching Tatiana intently as she slowly drank, observing the crowd. When it was clear no further explanation was forthcoming, he couldn’t keep it in any more. “Okay, seriously. Why are you here? And why are you pretending to be Scottish?”

“Owen, you hear my accent, yes?” She said with a raised eyebrow. “I am clearly Russian.”

“Not now, before!” God, getting catfished by one of his best friends on his first night in a new city was not on his agenda for that night. He was getting slightly hysterical. The girls who’d perched their drinks on their table as they danced beside it gave him wary looks. “When you were pretending to be my flatmate!”

“I think that you cannot handle your liquor,” Tatiana said, hiding her smirk behind her glass.

“So, you’re not Irene in disguise?”

Tatiana finally set down the drink and turned to look him in the eye. He could focus on her perfectly. “I am concerned about you. Who is Irene?”

“My flatmate!” So he wasn’t drunk, just insane. Or Tatiana had been cloned. “She looks exactly like you! Look…” He scoured the room. There, in the middle of the dance floor, the doppelgänger was being twirled, if reluctantly, by an overenthusiastic Vanger. Her hair was loose again, her light dress in complete contrast to Tatiana’s whole vibe. She was still timid and uptight. But she looked the _same_. “She’s over there!”

“Huh,” Tatiana huffed. “I do not see it. But she is very attractive.”

“Did I pass out in the toilets or something?” He should probably text Curt or something. Call Dean to drive all the way up the country and rescue him because he was clearly having some kind of episode. “I’m not sure what’s going on.”

“We are in a pub.”

“I know _that_ , just…” The freaky coincidence wasn’t important right now. What _was_ important was one of his best friends was right in front of him. The first person who truly loved him that he’d seen since meeting Barb in Poland was right there. And he hadn’t had a hug in so long. He gathered Tatiana up in his arms and squeezed her tightly, her cool demeanour faltering a little with her surprised yelp. “Where have you been? Nobody’s heard from you in weeks!”

Still hugging him, Tatiana leaned in to speak into Owen’s ear. “Can we talk somewhere a little quieter?”

~~~

“Oh my god, I haven’t eaten since I stopped in Carlisle. I am _starving_.” Jesus Christ, a battered sausage was the most perfect, delicious thing he’d ever put in his mouth right now. Oh man, now he was giggling to himself about a battered sausage in his mouth. Maybe he was a little tipsy. But he was also starving, and a proper, artery-clogging, deep-fried treat was exactly what he needed. He was delighted to discover his halls were only a minute walk away from a chip shop. That was his culinary needs catered to for the next three years.

Tatiana was stood in his bedroom, arms crossed, her nose a little upturned as she looked around his new small, clinical, sparse living space. Owen dropped his wrapped carton of chips and sauce on the MDF desk that was built into the wall of the room, and fished around in the bag for his small plastic fork. “Owen, you do not have any furniture,” Tatiana observed. “Not even a blanket.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m gonna have to go shopping tomorrow,” Owen shrugged, perching on the office chair the room provided. He gestured to the bare mattress. “Take a seat.”

She sat on the bed, still glancing around the room for some point of interest. “Okay, start talking.”

He stuffed a forkful of chips into his mouth, and looked her straight in the eye. “You first, I’m eating,” he said around the mouthful.

“There is not much to say,” she sighed, pulling her hands into her lap and picking at one of her fingernails. “Things in Russia have… not been great.” Owen abandoned his food. Okay, this was serious. He remembered that day they parted ways in America. Tatiana hadn’t just looked sad to be leaving. She was _scared_. But any further details were not forthcoming, and Owen wasn’t about to push. “I had no chance of leaving for America again, but I remembered you talking fondly about Scotland. My parents agreed that I could study here as there is a good fencing coach that I can work with.”

“You _live_ here?” Owen asked, shuffling over from the chair to sit beside her on the bed. “You’re studying at Edinburgh?”

“As are you, it would seem. What is going on?”

So he told her. The whole sorry story, about rejecting St. Andrew’s and Aunt Sybil’s letter, about sleeping on Dean and Maartje’s couch and about all his worldly possessions being in two bags. He left out the part about Curt never being around to talk. He didn’t want her feeling bad about her own disappearance, and also, he didn’t want her thinking that he and Curt weren’t working out. Because they were, weren’t they? They were still strong, and in love. They were just _busy_ , but everything would be okay.

“Wow,” Tatiana said. By the end of his story, her head was resting on his shoulder. The contact was nice. God, he’d missed this. He’d missed her. “You have, how do you say it? Been through shit, haven’t you?”

Owen chuckled. “You could say that again.”

“Well, now I understand why you do not have furniture. Tomorrow I will take you shopping.”

“Oh my god, Curt!” He sat up with a jolt, dislodging Tatiana from her comfortable position by his side.

“I am Tatiana.”

“No,” Fuck, he hadn’t even thought about this. It should have been the first thing he thought of. “We need to talk to Curt! Grab my laptop.”

Tatiana picked up the laptop from where Owen had left it on the otherwise-empty bedside table. He hadn’t charged it, hopefully it was still okay. He looked at the clock. It was about 5pm for Curt. And he wasn’t working today. _Perfect_.

The jaunty chime of the Skype dial tone had become his best friend over the past few months, but this was the most excited he’d ever been to hear it. He crowded in close to Tatiana so they were both in sight, and he was feeling giddy, his whole body tingling with excitement. The warmth of Tatiana beside him, the food in his belly, the anticipation of Curt’s reaction, and yes, the booze, made him feel more alive than he had since that day in the airport. He had been sleepwalking through his entire life since that day.

The call connected, but it took a moment for the screen to materialise. His grin grew wide as the pixels began to form.

“ _Hey babe, I thought- OH MY GOD!_ ”

Instinctively, Owen flung the laptop away onto the mattress.

“Okay, yes, I am still a lesbian,” Tatiana said, blinking.

“ _What the_ fuck?” Owen could hear the sound of shuffling and muttered cursing coming from his tinny laptop speakers. Oh my god, he was actually going to die. This day had killed him. He pulled the laptop back over, angling it so only he could see the screen. Curt was laying in bed, the blankets mercifully now covering his lower half but his chest still bare. He figured it was safe and moved back to bring Tatiana back into view, if she even wanted to be there.

“Jesus Christ, Curt,” Owen said, “what have I told you about never starting the Skype call like that!”

“ _Forgive me for not expecting you to have company in the middle of the night in a city where you don’t know anybody, babe._ ” Curt snapped, pulling his blanket up a little further. “ _Oh, hi Tati._ ”

“Hello,” Tatiana said, blankly.

“ _Wait…_ ”

“Yep.”

~~~

Vanger and the rest of his flatmates were pouring in. At least he assumed that’s who was arriving. He could only make out Vanger’s voice amongst all the shouting; Vanger could have brought an entire rave into his new kitchen for all Owen knew. It wasn’t like he had any belongings that the party could break. Nobody knocked on his door. Maybe everyone assumed he’d copped off with someone and didn’t want to disturb them. He didn’t care.

Curt had, thankfully, got dressed. The blanket had not been enough of a shield for him, even if Tatiana no longer seemed to care that she’d just bore witness to one of her best friends naked. Together, they picked at the last remaining chips in the carton, by now a cold, soggy mess, while laying with their backs against the wall on Owen’s single bed, the laptop balanced against Owen’s bent knee.

“ _So, you guys get to be best buds in Scotland, Barb’s off being a genius at MIT, and I’m stuck_ here. _With_ Kevin.”

“Truly a fate worse than death,” Owen nodded in mock-solemnity. “It’s not like you’ve been kicked out of your home.”

“Or fled your country,” Tatiana agreed.

“Our pain will never compare to that of Curtis Lawrence Mega. He has to _flip burgers_ , Tati.”

“The horror!” She gasped.

“He has to spend time with his cool friend who he used to kiss!”

“I must inform the United Nations.”

“ _You can stop now,”_ Curt groaned. _“Okay, seriously, this is so cool! I’m so happy you guys are there together.”_ He hesitated for a moment, that catch of breath that precipitates bad news. _“But I have to go._ ”

“Love…” Owen warned. He knew what was coming. It was the same thing he’d heard every day all summer. Even with the 50 pixels that seemed to make up Curt’s webcam, the bags under his eyes were visible.

“ _I know, but Will called in sick and Mr. Big was desperate.”_

“It’s supposed to be your day off.”

“ _Don’t worry,”_ Curt said, _“it’s only four hours. I’ll be home before you guys even wake up._ ” Okay, four hours wasn’t bad. Four hours would still get him home before midnight. He could sleep while Owen bought furniture, and be well rested to finally celebrate Owen’s freedom. It was fine. Curt was fine. This new work ethic of his was actually a positive thing. He was _proud_ of Curt.

“I’ll call you first thing.”

“ _I’ll be waiting. Tati, you’d better not be there._ ”

“Do not worry, Mega,” Tatiana said. “I never want to see that again.”

~~~

Waking up with someone else in his arms was the most blessed feeling in the world. Of course, it was the wrong someone. The body was too small, the hair too long, the smell all wrong. But it was nice. He wasn’t sure exactly what time they’d fallen asleep. He’d been planning on walking Tatiana back to her own halls down on Cowgate, like a true gentleman, but then they’d got to talking to Barb on MSN (her roommate was apparently the loudest person who ever existed so Skyping was out of the window) until the laptop lay abandoned at the end of the mattress and they were snuggled together, sharing the single, almost flat pillow. He woke up with his face in her hair and his mouth feeling tacky from grease and not cleaning his teeth. She woke up not long after, her expression much softer with sleepiness, and he let her shower first. He’d picked up a pack of three toothbrushes and some toothpaste at a service station on his long drive, but she still had to wear last night’s clothes. Owen did half-jokingly offer her a pair of his clean boxers and she responded seriously that she skipped out on her underwear all the time.

When they left the bedroom, the hallway was a mess of empty cans and bottles, and Vanger, somehow, was still awake, humming to himself as he started filling a bin bag with them. He gave them a knowing glance as they walked passed him, but didn’t say anything. Did Vanger think Tatiana was Irene too? If so, did he think Owen had just shagged her. And was he fine with that? He was too tired to actually care what Vanger thought.

Owen didn’t actually check his phone until he was out on the street at Cowgate, gulping in the fresh air while Tatiana ran to her room to change. The streets were still busy with the last few of the Festival crowd, but he liked it. It had the anonymity of London without the bustle. Checking his phone, he had one text message from Maartje, asking if he’d enjoyed his first night, and seven from Curt.

**plz dont h8 me**

**afta wrk kevin asked me 2 go 2 dis partay wiv him. ill only stay 1hr i promise**

**i fink kev misses dick n i no how dat feels cuz i miss u n i miss dick but not dat dick so dont wanna leave him alone**

**av u heard of flite of da concords just heard dem at dis party n dey so funni omg**

**OWEN I JUST BEEFED GLASS I BEEFED IT**

**fukin autocorrect dont even no wot i woz tryin 2 say dere**

**i love you babe good nite xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

He slipped his phone back in his pocket.

~~~

Owen’s car was small, sure, but it sure could hold a lot of soft furnishings. After spending an hour scouring the offerings in Grassmarket, Owen quickly came to realise that vintage did not necessarily mean inexpensive. He’d never really had to consider how much these things cost before. Thankfully, Tatiana had a nose for bargains, and between several charity shops, and a complete raid of Primark, he had the bare essentials to live: bedding, towels, cutlery, crockery, a few new clothes and underwear, and a quirky ornament he could put on his windowsill so any visitors to his room could think _my, what an interesting ornament_ and maybe decide to be his friend. The ornament was a rabbit, and he planned to name him Oleg. Curt’s mum would get a kick out of that. His phone hadn’t buzzed the whole time they’d been out. Curt was probably still asleep. Had he even gone home? Did he wake up in Kevin’s arms like Tatiana had woken up in his? No jealousy or anything. Kevin was as dedicated to Dick as Owen was to Curt, and Owen trusted Curt. But Curt _was_ drunk. Curt was drunk a _lot_ these days.

“What is that face?” Tatiana asked as she stirred her coffee. The coffee shop they’d stopped in for lunch was a far cry from Doris and Joan’s. It had the bare brick walls of a hipster paradise, it sold vinyl, it gave its beverages unpronounceable names, and there wasn’t a doily in sight. He kind of missed the simplicity of ordering from Dean, where the two choices of coffee were ‘black’ and ‘milky’.

“It’s my face.”

“You are frowning,” Tatiana observed. “Talk to me.”

Owen sighed. It couldn’t hurt to open up. The only reason he’d even got together with Curt was because of Tatiana. She had answers and she had practical solutions. He just wasn’t sure if he knew what the problem was yet.

“Curt went to a party last night after work,” he began.

“Ahh, you are worried he cheated on you,” she mused. “You are foolish.”

“Of course not!” _But what if… no._ “No, it’s just that… he spends all his time picking up extra shifts, and then any free time he’s out getting bladdered with Kevin, and then when classes start up…”

“You think he will not have time for you.”

“Exactly,” Owen nodded. It was a relief to finally say it out loud. “Long distance is already hard. I know if I was with him, like physically, things would be okay. But what if this isn’t enough for him. What if he’s bored of just Skyping or he meets new people or he just forgets I exist.”

“You know that will never happen,” Tatiana said. A barista, young, with long hair in a ponytail, a goatee and a lip piercing, wearing a permanent frown, set down what essentially looked like a cheese and ham toastie but had a fancy name and cost over a fiver. Tatiana picked at her blueberry muffin. “But that is not all that is bothering you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that long distance was a problem for you before the summer. Nothing has changed about that now. Something else has.”

“I guess…” he rubbed his palms against his thighs. Something about the rough feel of denim against his skin grounded him. It was tactile. It reminded him that, yes, he was just sat in a cafe with one of his best friends, and nothing bad was going to happen. It was just talking. Touch used to help him stay calm back when, well, after his parents. “I’m scared he’s not looking after himself. He’s working himself into the ground, and he’s drinking so much.”

“Do you think he has a problem?”

“Maybe?” He shook his head. “No, not like alcoholism. I don’t want to catastrophise. But maybe he’s doing all these shifts and going out so much to avoid something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Owen shrugged. “Dealing with not being able to wrestle, being stuck at home…” He paused, then in a quiet voice added, “me.”

“Do you know what I think?” Tatiana asked.

“What do you think?”

“I think you should talk to your boyfriend and stop crying to me about it.”

~~~

Besides Vanger and Irene, his flatmates included a girl from Wigan who had allowed him to share her shelf in the fridge, because Vanger had already taken up three shelves of the six shelf fridge with his various snacks. Her name was Haleema, and she was studying History, and that was the extent of his knowledge. He still hadn’t met his fifth flatmate but he knew they were a boxer by the punching bag that had been put up in the communal living space. Vanger, Irene and Haleema didn’t seem like the boxing type.

Tatiana had left not long after they unloaded the last of Owen’s new belongings from his car, as he had now found a parking space for it, and as she walked out the door, Vanger muttered “flip-diggity” and waggled his eyebrows at Owen. Irene hadn’t been around and Owen still wasn’t sure if Vanger thought they were the same woman.

He’d switched his browser ten times between his reading lists for the first term and his Skype window before the little green dot finally indicated that Curt was online.

“Good morning,” he said, with a little more forced joviality than usual.

“ _Is it morning?_ ”

“I don’t know, it’s your timezone.”

Curt’s eyelids were heavy with sleep, and his hair mussed. It was getting pretty long, and Owen wasn’t sure if this was a new look Curt was trying out, but he could probably tie it up soon. Mrs Mega probably hated it.

_“I’m sorry.”_

“What for?” Owen asked nervously. What if Tatiana had texted him already? He didn’t want to start on the offensive. He didn’t really want to have this conversation at all.

_“I saw the texts. What the hell is beefing glass, Owen? I mean, what the fuck?”_

“I don’t know, love,” he let out the breath he’d been holding. “Feeling okay?”

 _“My head’s throbbing a little but I’m fine,”_ Curt said. He tucked his hand under the pillow, laying on his side. Owen lay down on his bed, now with duvet and three whole pillows, and mirrored his position, like they used to. _“How about you guys? How is my favourite Russian?”_

“I thought your favourite Russian was a Black Russian,” Owen joked.

 _“Oh please, I do_ not _want to think about alcohol right now,”_ Curt groaned. _“…I miss this.”_

“Me too,” Owen said. So why did Curt keep avoiding it? “Do you need to work today?”

 _“Nope,”_ Curt said with a slight smile. “ _Genuinely. Mr. Big’s closed for the day. He didn’t say why but I don’t care. I’m all yours._ ” Good. Curt was his. He wanted to be his, and he was smiling his dopey, half-awake grin. For now that was enough.

“So,” Owen said. “Our first proper day together where I’m truly alone and can do whatever I want. What should we do?”

 _“Honestly? I’m tired.”_ Oh. He wanted to go. Of course he did. Owen was all set to plaster on a fake smile, say a cheery goodbye, when Curt continued. _“Can you just… talk? I like hearing your voice.”_

The smile didn’t have to be fake. Things were okay. They would be okay. This was just stress and changes and adjustments, and they’d already made it through so much worse. Before, they thought Owen would be flying over for Christmas. Before, they had something to look forward to. Curt was just bummed out because of that. The fact that he was overworked _before_ Aunt Sybil cut Owen off was just a coincidence. “I can do that,” Owen said. “I could read you a book or talk about the things I bought with Tati, or tell you all about the guy from the country Feurgin is going to rule one day…”

 _“Oh, the last one, please,”_ Curt chuckled softly. _“I need to know what sort of man sees Feurgin as leadership material.”_

“Sure, but first, can I tell you something?”

_“Hmm?”_

There were so many things to say. _I’m worried about you. Do you want to break up? Are you avoiding me? You look sick. Are you struggling for money? Is there someone else? What the hell changed this summer?_

“I just wanted to tell you that you _really_ need a haircut.” He was such a chicken. “But I love you anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes:
> 
> \- Continuing Owen's 90s Britpop playlist, this chapter is named after the song 'I Would Fix You' by Kenickie.  
> \- Shipping MK's characters with each other is a power move and I am here for it.  
> \- Because of everything I said in the beginning notes, I just want to say that this fic will not update as frequently as Dear Exchange Student did. The world and my life are very different to how they were last summer, but thank you for reading and sticking with my infrequent updates.  
> \- Special thanks to L.S., Dino, Tobi, Rey and Pat.  
> \- Completely by accident, at the time of publishing this chapter this fic is on exactly 15000 words which is satisfying.  
> \- Curt beefed glass.


	5. In Need of Education in the Rain

“If we were in an alternate universe right now, what would we be doing?”

Curt’s eyes narrowed. “Are you high?”

It was 8pm, and the rest of the flat had headed out to some other Fresher’s Week event. Owen had faked the mother of all hangovers just to stop Vanger pressuring him to come along. Maybe he should have gone to drama school. Curt was bundled up in the blankets on his bed, the laptop perched as usual on the pillow next to him. He was close to the screen, so close he was a little out of focus. It reminded Owen of how he looked when he curled into Owen’s side in his sleep, and Owen opened bleary eyes to a face full of hair. He really wanted to touch that hair.

“No, just like… imagine that at this exact same time in some other dimension, another Curt and Owen exist.” Owen tugged his own new duvet up over his shoulder, burrowing further into his own pillow. “What would they be doing?”

“Maybe they’d be in the same room?” Curt huffed out a laugh.

“Come on, be a bit more inventive.” A smile tugged at the corner of Owen’s mouth. “Maybe they’re secret agents fighting against the KGB. Or maybe you’re a barista and I’m a struggling artist.”

“Or things are exactly the same as they are now but you’re blond.”

“Gross.”

Curt’s eyes didn’t meet his, but whether that was intentional, or because he was looking at the screen instead of his webcam, Owen didn’t know. The fairy lights that Tatiana had insisted on hanging over his bed cast Owen’s room in a warm, less clinical glow. It felt almost cosy. He could feel his eyelids drooping, but no, he couldn’t fall asleep now. Not when Curt was actually here and talking to him at last. “What’s got you thinking about this?” Curt asked.

“I don’t know.” He did. He’d already made a start on his reading list just waiting for Curt to come online. “It’s just… interesting.”

“No.” Curt shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

“Why?”

“I just…” He sighed, and ran a hand through his already-mussed hair. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t want to think about a better, happier version of us out there. It scares me.”

“You’re not happy.” He already knew it. The bags under Curt’s eyes were impossible to ignore even in webcam quality. There was never any excitement in his voice anymore, unless he left Owen another drunk voicemail in the middle of the night. But saying the words out loud was like a punch in the gut. Owen curled his knees up to his chest, hoping Curt would just think he was getting comfortable.

“Yeah, I am. Of course I am. Just…” He was still staring at the ceiling. “We can never be more than what we are, so why think about that?”

“You don’t seem happy.” He’d opened the floodgates now, and he had to catch the months of anxious thoughts from spilling off his tongue. _Do you resent me? Is this not working? Do you want to end this?_

“I’m fine.”

“Curt…”

Curt turned back onto his side. His hair fell in his face and he blew it out of his eyes. He looked small. Curt had never looked small to him before. “I just want to lie here with you.”

“You don’t have to go to work?”

“I called in sick. And I switched off my phone,” he smiled a little at that, like he was waiting expectantly for a reward. Owen couldn’t help it, he smiled back. “It’s just you, me, and Skype.”

“Are you sick?” Owen asked. It wasn’t a huge leap to make. Curt’s skin was paler than it had been when they last saw each other in person, and he’d gotten skinnier since he’d stopped wrestling. Fuck, was that the problem. Was he _sick_ sick? “You look tired.”

Curt shrugged. “Maybe I’ve overdone things a bit.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

He hated this. God, he hated that he _caused_ this. If he’d just accepted the end at the time, if he hadn’t have sent that text when he landed, Curt would have been over him by now. Might have had a new boyfriend. _If he doesn’t have one already._

But no, that was not a thought he was going to entertain. Curt wasn’t a cheat. He would never be a cheat. But what did he _do_ at all those parties? Owen had seen pictures of Curt on Kevin’s MySpace, playing beer pong, laughing with other guys. It was the only time he looked… well, not happy, but relaxed. The only time he looked like Curt at the very least. Owen was used to being alone. He quite welcomed it, at times. Curt at least always had Barb before Owen came along. Curt couldn’t stand being alone. And Owen had left him. Owen knew Curt wouldn’t go for another guy, but he wouldn’t blame Curt if he did.

Maybe Curt hated him.

“Love, I’m worr-”

“Why do you want an alternate universe version of me?” Curt interrupted.

“What?” Owen said, caught off-guard. “I don’t want that.”

“You brought it up.”

“I brought up an alternate universe version of _us_. Hypothetically. I’m happy with the version of Curt Mega I have.” _Even if I may have broken him._

“I don’t want to hold you back.” Curt said quietly.

“What?”

“You have this new, exciting life. And you’re so smart and successful and gorgeous. You’re way too good for me.”

“What the fuck, Curt?” This wasn’t the direction he’d expected this conversation to go in at all. Owen pulled himself up, resting his weight on an elbow, and dragged the laptop closer, as if that might comfort Curt in some way.

“What can I offer the world except burgers and disappointment?”

“Love, you are incredible.” Fuck, he was. He was adorable, and funny, and cute, and sometimes he could be stupid but in an endearing way, and other times he was smarter than he gave himself credit for. He felt things deeply which could hurt him, but when he was happy it was like the sun shone brighter and the air was clearer, like he radiated life. Curt was _life_. Where had that gone?

“You are,” Curt said, his voice worryingly monotone. “And Barb, and Tati. You are going to change the world. I can’t even pay my mom rent.”

“Curt, you’re scaring me.” Owen curled his fingers in the covers. He was seconds away from logging on to British Airways and blowing his entire first loan payment on a flight.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to. I just-”

Then Curt muted his microphone. He was still there, just staring ever-so-slightly off from the webcam, watching intently where Owen’s face would have been on his screen. He didn’t blink, didn’t move. Owen wanted to say something, but what?

After four minutes (Owen knew, he kept checking the time), Curt shifted into a seating position, the blankets gathering at his lap and revealing his bare chest. He _had_ lost weight. He was typing.

_I’ll never be able to keep up with you and I don’t want you to feel like you’re wasting your time on me._

“I could never feel like that,” Owen said out loud.

 _Give it time._ Curt typed.

“Okay. Answer me one question. Do you love me?”

He watched as a hint of a smile teased at Curt’s lips. That was something. Curt un-muted. “Duh.”

“That’s more than enough.”

~~~

When he woke up, Curt was sleeping. He didn’t quite remember when he fell asleep, only that Curt had been reading him blog posts from Barb’s livejournal at the time, wondering what the hell slash fiction was and why Barb was writing it about the guy with the hat and Zac Efron’s best friend in High School Musical. Curt hadn’t really said much after their conversation, only listened as Owen described Edinburgh, his flatmates, and his reading list. Curt had said a few cursory words about Kevin (“he’s fine”), his mum (“she’s fine”) and work (“it’s fine”), until they got onto the topic of Barb. Curt had read post after post out loud, a way of talking without having to talk _about_ anything himself.

It was dark on Curt’s screen, and Owen could barely make out his silhouette in the night, but he could tell that Curt had rolled away from the screen. He hadn’t closed the call after Owen fell asleep though. That was a good sign.

Owen stretched, grabbed his dirty clothes off the floor, and gave them a sniff. Not too bad, they could last him one more day. He dressed quickly, brushed his hair back with his fingers, and quickly ran to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He appraised himself in the mirror; he could get away with arguing the dishevelled look was intentional.

He picked up his laptop and typed a single message into the Skype chat.

_If there are other Curts and Owens in other dimensions, those dimensions are shit because none of them could love each other as much as I love you xxx_

He didn’t close the call, instead he left the laptop on his windowsill, so when Curt woke up he could at least get a glimpse of Owen’s new world. Maybe he could get a digital camera, upload little vlogs to YouTube for Curt and Barb. He’d ask Tatiana.

“Hello, friend!” Vanger said cheerily as Owen left his bedroom. He was sat on the floor, building a tower out of playing cards.

“Vanger, why are you just sat in the hallway?” Owen asked.

“Haleema and Sean are fighting in the living room about where to keep Sean's punching bag, and Irene has already left. So I am keeping myself occupied."

“Okay… why are you in the corridor though? You have a bedroom.”

“Yes I do, but I had company last night who are still sleeping,” Vanger said.

“You hooked up with someone last night?”

“Someones,” Vanger corrected. “Plural.”

Owen shook his head in an effort to expunge _that_ mental image. “Okay I’m going to meet Tati.” He tried to carefully step over Vanger’s tower, Vanger staring blankly at him the whole time. Suddenly, Feurgin made complete sense to him.

“Bloody hell,” he said at the door. “How did you manage to score two people at once?”

“Two? Flipdiggity! It was three!”

~~~

“Tati, no.”

“Oh, come on.”

“ _No!_ ”

“Please!”

The hall was large and crammed with stalls. It looked like Comic Con if Comic Con was full of tables at the brink of collapse. Students milled between the different stalls collecting brochures they would never read, trying to grab all the free pens they could find.

“I spent my entire life being forced into extra-curricular activities. I’ve done my fair share.”

Tatiana scowled. “You need friends. Societies are how you meet people.”

“I don’t want to meet people who think playing an imaginary Wizard game is a productive use of their time,” Owen folded his arms.

“Okay, but are you talking about the Dungeons and Dragons Society or the Quidditch Society?” Tatiana asked.

“See, this is exactly why I don’t want to be here!”

Tatiana hooked her arm around Owen’s and dragged him forward. “Listen to me carefully, Owen Carvour. I am finally living in a country where I can safely meet other queer people. I am joining the LGBT Society, and you are joining it with me.”

“I already know queer people.”

“You know your boyfriend, your boyfriend’s exes, and me,” Tatiana said. “You are not, how you say, social butter?

“I think you mean a social butterfly.”

“No, I mean social butter,” Tatiana nodded. “Someone who spreads themselves around. Now, come.”

“Fine,” Owen groaned. “I’ll sign up. But the second you meet a hot lesbian I am out of there.”

“Then give me Irene’s number.”

“ _No!_ You are _not_ dating your clone, Tati.”

“We look nothing alike!”

The LGBT Society stall looked less like a unicorn had vomited on it and more like that unicorn’s vomit had, in turn, also vomited. Rainbow flags covered every surface, the badges were rainbow, the pens were rainbow, the sweets were rainbow-coloured, it was all very _loud_. The girl with rainbow-dyed hair who eagerly held out the clip board immediately collared Tatiana for a conversation. Owen knew Tatiana needed this, needed the acceptance. But everything was just so bright and happy and all he could think of was the darkness of Curt’s bedroom.

One thing did catch his eye, the only part of the stall that wasn’t rainbow, and that was the guy sat behind the table, drumming his fingers with a vacant look in his eyes. He wore a denim jacket over a plain black t-shirt, his blonde hair styled up into a bit of a quiff. He looked so out-of-place, Owen couldn’t help but stare.

“Can I… help you?” The guy said eventually.

“Sorry,” Owen said, blinking. “Haven’t woken up properly yet.”

“Are you interested in the society?” The guy asked.

“What, me?” Owen shook his head. “No. Just waiting for a friend.”

“Okay,” the guy shrugged his shoulders, unfazed. “Straight allies are welcome too, though.”

“I’m gay,” Owen said, as if the guy even cared. “I just don’t think this is my kind of thing.”

“To tell you the truth?” The guy began, rising from his seat and leaning in to Owen, “don’t tell Nora, but it’s not mine either.”

“Then why are you here?” Owen asked.

“It’s useful for my gender studies unit,” the guy said. “Anyway, if you want to sign up we only need your name and number. You’ll get spammed with invites for the first two weeks but after that we pretty much stop texting anyone who’s stopped coming.”

“You know what? Fuck it.” Owen pulled his phone out of his pocket. He still could never remember his number off the top of his head, even though he had Curt’s memorised. As he looked at his screen, he noticed a single text from Kevin.

**curt sick. mayb check on him.**

Owen filled out the sign-up sheet on a clipboard that the guy balanced in his hands, seeing out of the corner of his eye that Tatiana was watching him with the widest smile he’d seen from her since their road trip so many months ago. The guy pulled the clipboard away and glanced down at it.

“Okay Owen,” he said, “we’ll be in touch soon. Keep the pen.”

“Thanks.”

“Also, hot tip. The A-Capella Society will give you a free donut if you listen to them sing one verse of Defying Gravity.”

~~~

The library was almost empty, aside from a few older students who Owen assumed were postgraduates, quietly pouring over stacks of textbooks. He supposed not many students were keen to get started on their reading when Fresher’s Week had barely begun. That suited Owen fine. Tatiana had left for some forced bonding with her flatmates (all aggressively straight, she’d told him) and while he was tempted to head back to his flat and see if Curt was awake yet, he also couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe Curt didn’t want to see him yet.

He’d set himself up in a back corner, on a table by the window. The rain beat against the glass almost in time with the drums on the Oasis album currently playing through his headphones. He spun the wheel of his iPod to find Cigarettes & Alcohol before cracking open the James Joyce tome set for his first class. He’d already read this twice. Aunt Sybil loved James Joyce.

With only one paragraph read, he was grateful for the distraction of his phone buzzing. He picked it up to check the message. An unknown number.

**Hi. This is the guy from the LGBT stall earlier. I’m Morten.**

_Oh, hi. Is this the start of me being spammed?_

**No, that will come from Nora. Can’t read your handwriting. Is your name Owen Carver?**

_Close. It’s Carvour. Sorry about the weird spelling._

**My name is Morten Jørgensen. No need to apologise.**

_Cool, nice to meet you Morten._

He picked up the book again. Joyce’s words were a blur before his eyes as he wondered how to type the letter ø on his phone. It buzzed again and Owen picked it up, expecting to see a “likewise” or something to that effect. It wasn’t that.

**i love you. sorry if i bummed u out. so tired.**

And another.

**ur so good n im proud of u baby. kick scotlands ass!**

**i mean b brilliant like u always r** ****

**cant believe ur my bf sumtimes. mom sez hi. i love you more dan ne ov da ova universes**

Owen shot back a _< 3_, before heading back to his inbox to save Morten’s number.

~~~

**From: kevinlegenderry@hotmail.com**

**To: owencrox@yahoo.co.uk**

Hey man. I know you’re probably sleeping right now. Everything’s okay. I went to this party tonight with a few of the guys. Curt said he was working the closing shift and I thought he’d be calling you after so I didn’t invite him. Anyway some girl said someone was passed out in the bathtub and not waking up. I got first aid training this summer so I ran up there and it was Curt. I don’t think he was on anything and he couldn’t have been there long unless Dick’s dad let him leave early so I don’t think he was wasted either. Didn’t think he even knew these guys. He looks sick.

I called Dick and he’s gonna speak to his dad about giving Curt the week off with full pay. I know he’s been working all these extra hours and he said he’s saving up for you. Christmas present? Your birthday? idk when your birthday is. He’s all gross and pale and clammy. Maybe he’s picked up a bug. Called his mom too to tell her but he’s already at my place and asleep so he’s gonna stay here for the night. Never thought I’d have Curt in my bed again.

Thought I should tell you in case you’re trying to reach him. I’ll get him to call you when he wakes up. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on with him, man. My dad’s a nurse and will be home in an hour so he’ll check him over. Maybe you can talk him into seeing a doctor?

If I get whatever bug he’s got, you’re paying my medical bills, rich boy.

Kev

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Continuing Owen's Britpop playlist, this chapter title comes from Some Might Say by Oasis.  
> \- Sorry about all the angst. I'm channelling both a lot of the angst from my last long-distance relationship, and angst of lack of human contact during this pandemic. I promise this sequel won't be all relentless misery but that's just where my muse is taking me right now.  
> \- slightly shorter chapter than usual but it just felt right that way.


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